“The Chinese Screen”

The folding screen
in the window
of the Chinese art gallery
is small
barely two feet high
four feet wide
bordered in black
top and bottom.

It is striking.
My eyes roam the surface
as I luxuriate
in lush brushwork
sparse black-and white
coloration
sensual rhythm
of stems trending right
each ending
in an explosion
of bloom.
My sensibilities
rock.
My body responds
to the stimuli.
I must have the screen.

The shop is closed.
I leave town
in the morning.
I write a note
on the back
of my business card.
I try to explain
the depth of my obsession
in twenty-five words
or less.
How can one communicate
a coup de foudre
on the back
of a 2” x 3 ½” card?

I write in rhyme
hoping to appeal
to the owner’s
aesthetics.

I slide my dreams
under the door.
I turn to leave.
I catch a glimpse
of movement.
I knock.
No answer.
I wait.
Perhaps there will be
a reply.
None.

I return to the window
for one last glimpse
of the object
of my preoccupation.
A hand materializes.
I fill with hope.
Will it beckon me inside?
No.
Instead it removes
the screen
and replaces it
with a sign.
NFS.

I leave deflated
knowing that I
will never own
an emotionally-charged
Chinese screen
with explosive
lotus blossoms
atop sensuous
rhythmic stems
rendered
in the cold
harsh reality
of black and white.
An image
that is
so reminiscent
of my own life story.

(Written for dVersePoets, “Poetics: ‘Asians are Ugly!'”. May 18, 2013.)